The doors slide open onto a sprawl of midnight velvet and low, amber light. The bar is suspended above the city, all glass and shadow, the skyline bleeding neon beneath your feet. Conversations murmur low, punctuated by the clink of crystal glasses and the occasional sharp laugh.

You're expected. The host—tall, hollow-cheeked, with eyes like a dead fish—gives you a single nod and gestures toward the far end of the room.

There, under a halo of dim light, sits a man you'd recognize anywhere.